Death's Sword Book 1: Finding and Seeking

Chapter 7: Day 11

A large bubble hung motionless in the air, held within a golden ring. A face was visible within the bubble. Slightly curly black hair, thick, neat, black eyebrows, dark brown eyes. A short, straight nose above a firm mouth. A strong jawline and a rounded chin. A very young, unlined face, not given much to smiling. Kleymin's face. "It almost seems a shame that one so young has to die," mused a female voice.

"He bears both crescent and star, so he is marked to die," replied a deeper, harsher, male voice. "Also, you have never known one moment of shame in your entire existence, Maora." This sally was greeted by a soft feminine chuckle. "You speak truth on both counts, my lord Hzmai. With his skills, though, I could have found many a use for the man this boy would have become."

"All the more reason to kill him now." The voice was unbending, implacable now. Maora sighed, "Yes, I suppose you are right, as usual, my lord. I will arrange for the appropriate steps to be taken." Hzmai's voice cut in sharply,

"No, Maora, I will make the arrangements."

"Do you not trust me, Hzmai?" Maora asked, voice silky-soft.

"When was there any element of trust between us, Maora?" asked the other. "I will contact you again later." There was a sound like a bronze bell being struck, warm and mellow, then Hzmai's presence was gone from Maora's chamber. The bubble rocked slightly from the force of the departure. Maora contemplated the bubble and the face within it for a while longer. Then she made a gesture and the bubble burst, Kleymin's face vanishing at the same time. "Poor boy, so much for you," she said, turning to attend to other matters.

The little catamaran moved silently to the bank between two large stands of bull-rushes, nosed under the drooping branches of a willow tree. Another mage in a white robe stood in the shadows, holding the reins of three dorvei, attention focused further ashore. At first glance, he was identical to the man in the boat. "Anything wrong, Tatu?" called Westizal, voice pitched to carry just as far as their escort. The other mage shook his head, "No, I think we're fine. The locals are very stirred up, though. I've seen a lot of signs of movement. I think they could be going to go for it this season, not next." Westizal raised one eyebrow at this but didn't comment. He and Staren clambered out of their boat, stretching tired limbs, then started to attach their bags to the dorvei. Once that was attended to, Tatu turned towards the river, stretched his left hand out over the catamaran and made a series of gestures and spoke a single word. The vessel sank below the water and disappeared from sight with scarcely a ripple. "We're good to go," he announced. Staren gave a great smile, lots of teeth flashing in the gloom. "Good. I want to get home and get some proper food inside me and have the feel of dry land under my feet once more." The two mages chuckled in unison then all three mounted their dorvei and rode slowly out from under the concealing branches and into the sunlight. One of the wizards turned to the kynstar and said, "You did set things up to incentivise the dra'an, didn't you?" The lizard-man gave him a toothy smile and nodded.

"Oh, yes, yes indeed." Something about the way he said it caused the wizard to look at him suspiciously. "Nothing to damage their library, I trust? You know how I feel about preserving knowledge." 

Staren's grin widened further as he assumed a pose of injured innocence. "Oh, please, it's me! You can trust me!" Both wizards continued to look gimlet-eyed at the kynstar. After a long paused, they both relaxed. One spoke, "We might need to trigger them sooner than we'd planned." Staren shrugged, apparently unconcerned. "They're ready, they'll do what you need whenever you decide it's needed." A companionable silence settled on the small group as their animals trotted on.

Takata, Da-keimin and Kleymin had not reached their goal before curfew, when the great bronze-bound gates would be locked and barred. They settled down for another night outside, once more in the cooler air of the mountains. A small copse of mountain ash gave them shelter, well away from the paved road that was making the steep climb up to the pass blocked by Cheikatoma. Kleymin was uneasy; Takata had added some strange herbs to their tiny fire, then muttered odd, guttural syllables over it. The boy's skin had crawled, as it had once before in the presence of magic. Curiously-scented smoke had curled upwards in convoluted spirals, twining its way into the darkness that seemed to draw closer around their little fire. Nothing had happened, though, and Takata had been behaving normally ever since.